Well, if this was a dream or a delusion, he would happily remain in it. Aziraphale felt real, felt warm and inviting and almost smotheringly concerned. It was more than Crowley could ever hope to ask for. The angel's hands wrapped around his outstretched, trembling hand and his whole being prickled with relief and the clashing of their opposite energies.

And then the angel was sitting beside him and there was nowhere else the demon ever wanted to be again. His fragile heart skipped a beat when not only did the angel sit beside him, but his precious, beautiful wings manifested only to wrap around him. It was too much for him. Too much good after so long he'd lived in ruins and emptiness. Too much of the angel he'd longed to see. Too much joy after all the sorrow he'd lived in.

And it broke him.

He desperately pulled Aziraphale into his arms, his mind only half registering the words coming out of the angel's mouth. It was just so good to hear his voice, even if it didn't sound quite right. None of that mattered. He held him tightly and finally after so many what he could only imagine were years (perhaps decades, maybe even centuries) alone he allowed himself to break down and sob. His whole frame shook with the force of the existence shattering grief he had done his model best to contain. But now he was safe. Now he had his angel back. Now he could let it go. He could let it all out like he'd needed to for so long.

Antia quickly skittered off Crowley's glasses and onto his head just in time as the sunglasses disappeared for Crowley to bury his face in Aziraphale's shoulder. She looked like she was about to say something, but she decided to remain silent. Crowley needed this. And she knew Aziraphale well enough to know that he would need a moment to process what was happening. Besides, she was having a tough time keeping it together herself.

And there just weren't any words for what was happening.